


With a Vengeance

by Kale-y (PechoraFlow)



Series: Promptober 2020 [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Again tons of minor character appearances, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Gen, I told you you'd get it!, Iron Dad, Mafia AU, Part 2!, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Tony Stark, Spider-son, Stephen Strange is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PechoraFlow/pseuds/Kale-y
Summary: Tony is on a manhunt, searching for whoever took Peter. Thinking Steve Rogers and his gang in Brooklyn are to blame, he sets out on a warpath only to find that Rogers doesn't have anything to do with it.Tony is left with nothing. No leads, no theories, no clues...nothing, and Peter is running out of time.---Prompt: Frail
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Promptober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947931
Comments: 17
Kudos: 100





	With a Vengeance

**Author's Note:**

> yes it's late im sry 
> 
> I hope you guys like this! Part 2 - the finale. Let's go!

Tony slammed open the door to the gym he knew Rogers and Barnes usually spent their time. He had never been in - hell, he had only _seen_ Rogers twice before - but he knew this was his hideout, just as Rogers knew where the Stark Manor was.

 _“Rogers!”_ Tony barked.

Across the empty gym, there was a group of young people gathered around the boxing ring, in which there were two young men who stopped sparring to look towards the door. As Tony started to get closer, he recognized the blonde man as Rogers, with Barnes leaning against the wall. He didn’t recognize Rogers’s sparring partner, but at that moment, he couldn’t care less.

Not when his son’s blood was still staining his hands.

Rogers unlatched his boxing gloves and took them off, handing them to his opponent. His eyes swept over Tony, no doubt taking in his bloodied and disheveled attire. “Stark, what are you doing here?”

“Get down here, asshole,” Tony spat. He was short enough as it was; he didn’t need Rogers another three feet taller on the boxing platform.

The unnamed sparring partner took an aggressive step forward, but Rogers held out a hand. “Stand down, Sam.” Sam didn’t look happy about the order, but he followed it anyway.

Rogers climbed over the boxing ring railing, jumping down to the gym floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Barnes move to join Rogers, but Tony was closer.

Getting right in his face, Tony jabbed a stern finger in Rogers’s collar. “You _son of a bitch._ I’ve been professional for _years,_ and respected your territory, but that wasn’t enough, was it? Tell me, what _in the hell_ made you think dragging Peter into this was a good idea?”

Rogers frowned, as if he was confused, playing dumb. “Who’s-”

With all of his might, Tony punched Rogers across his face. Rogers stumbled back a step, shock and surprise on his expression.

Everyone in the room tensed, but nobody moved. Both Tony and Rogers were dons - nobody had the authority to take the rival don out, even if one had just attacked the other.

“He’s _fourteen,_ ” Tony went on. “He's just a kid, and you shot him twice and _kidnapped_ him!”

“Stark, I-” Rogers started, raising his hands in what was probably meant to be a disarming position, but Tony kept going.

“You have ten seconds to tell me where he is, or I swear you’ll have more lead than blood in your body,” Tony growled. “I’ll bring the whole N.Y.P.D. down on your ass- don’t think for a _second_ I won’t.”

Rogers’s eyes narrowed, not one to be pushed around. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have no idea who this ‘Peter’ kid is, and I haven’t ordered a hit against you or your crew for a year.”

Tony scrutinized Rogers. “Where’s Ronin?”

“Don’t go by that anymore,” a man said. He looked a little older than the other people in the gym, but he was just as muscled and confident. His hair was dirty blonde and scruffy, and he wore a lavender button-up shirt with brown slacks and suspenders. “I’m Clint. Clint Barton. I gave up Ronin two, two-three years ago. If you saw ‘Ronin’, you saw a copycat.”

Tony’s heart dropped. A cold horror gnawed at his bones, because what if they were telling the truth? “You’re lying,” Tony tried, but his voice sounded weak.

Rogers’s eyes softened somewhat. “I’m not. Besides, I would never order a hit on a kid-”

“No- you have him,” Tony insisted.

“I don't.”

“Yes, you do, because if _you_ don’t have him, then he’s…” Tony trailed off. He couldn’t finish his sentence, could barely finish the thought.

Rogers gently grabbed Tony’s elbow, easing him onto a nearby folding chair. He then snapped and pointed to another folding chair, which Barnes brought over for him. Then, Rogers sat in front of Tony, with Barnes standing behind Rogers’s shoulder.

“Who’s Peter?” Rogers asked, his voice softer.

Tony moved to put a hand over his eyes, fatigue and despair finally overtaking him, but he aborted the motion when he saw the blood on his hand, dark in the creases of his palm. “He’s my son,” Tony whispered.

Rogers stiffened. “You…?”

“He’s not mine. Not biologically,” Tony clarified. He sniffed and looked back up at Rogers. “I met him about a year ago, maybe two. He had nobody else, so I took him in a few months ago. I… I adopted him officially just...just a few hours ago.”

The two Brooklyn mobsters shared a glance before Rogers spoke up. “I…didn't know you were the type.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “I’m not. But Peter’s different. He’s a good kid - _really_ good. Caught him giving his lunch away to the homeless, several times. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He loves to talk, loves to read… He’s _fourteen and he was shot twice._ ” Tony's voice broke. He took a deep breath, willing himself not to break down even though he felt like his composure was being held together by mere blades of grass, ready to snap at any moment.

“He sounds like a good kid," Rogers offered.

“That’s an understatement,” Happy said, chiming in from behind Tony. He must have moved to mirror Barnes.

Rogers raised an eyebrow, amused. “Did he make an impression on everyone?”

“Everyone he met,” Happy confirmed.

“Stop talking about him like he’s dead,” Tony said, gritting his teeth.

The gathered men and women fell silent.

Finally, Rogers sat back in his chair. “I’ve been meaning to set up a meeting between us.”

Tony crossed his arms defensively. “Oh yeah?”

“Next mayor just got elected,” Rogers said. “He’s ending Prohibition. We’re not going to have anything to fight over anymore, and you’ll be out of a market - be more profitable if we worked together. We’ll help you get Peter back. Call it an olive branch, for all the times we sabotaged your shipments.”

For a moment, Tony sat there, speechless. For almost ten years, he had been directly opposed to Steve Rogers and his gang in Brooklyn. He had come to their gym with a confrontation in mind, planning out where exactly he would fire each bullet-

But if Rogers really wasn’t responsible, Tony wouldn’t refuse his help.

Not when Peter’s life was at stake.

* * *

Rogers had introduced Tony to his main gang members - Barnes, of course, then Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, and Wanda Maximoff, and finally Natasha, who Tony would recognize anywhere. He'd like to say he had forgiven her, but he’d be lying.

After introductions were made, they piled into cars and headed over to Tony’s mansion, agreeing that it would be the best base of operations for the time being. The kidnapper would likely call Tony soon, anyways - they should be by the phone as much as possible.

In the meantime, they set up in Tony’s study. Lists of people that could have possibly ordered the hit were compiled, and each person was tailed.

No luck.

They grilled Jarvis, over and over again on what had happened, what he had seen.

Nothing.

They interviewed every single guy Happy had brought on, sending out BOLOs for the ones that they couldn’t track down. They even filed an official missing person’s report, getting the N.Y.P.D. in on the search. Rhodey spent most of his days at Stark Manor, now, giving ideas where he could.

_Nothing._

_“Nothing,”_ Tony groaned, his face in his hands as he sat on the couch in his study. “It’s been over a week and we haven’t found _anything._ ”

“We just have to keep working,” Rogers said. “Nobody can cover up all their tracks, and we know exactly where to look.”

“Then why haven’t we found him?” Tony turned to look at Rogers, a familiar fire in his gut. “We’ve looked everywhere. He’s not at any hospitals, which means he’s getting some kind of back-alley treatment or _no_ treatment, and I’m not sure which is worse-”

The phone rang out in the foyer.

Everyone fell silent.

It rang again.

Jarvis quietly excused himself from the room, disappearing from sight. The phone was interrupted mid-ring, and the voice of Jarvis echoed through the hall outside.

“Stark residence. ...One moment, sir."

Tony scrambled to get off of the couch and back to his desk, sitting in his office chair just as the phone on his desk rang.

He snatched it up. “Stark.”

For a few seconds, there was nothing on the other end of the receiver - just a shaky breath, and another… _“Tony?”_

Something in Tony’s chest loosened. “Peter? Kiddo, is that you? Are you alright?”

There was a muffled sob at the other end of the line. _“Tony, please-”_ Peter was cut off, but Tony could hear sounds of a struggle. Something was knocked over, someone was yelling... Tony clenched his fists, trying to figure out what was going on while fighting against the wave of helplessness that threatened to drown him.

Finally, the other end of the line calmed down.

There was a moment of silence.

Around Tony’s desk, the mobsters trained their eyes on Tony, trying to figure out what was happening. Rhodey put a notepad and pen on the desk, pointing to it in a clear demand for Tony to explain what was going on, while not giving away the fact that he wasn’t alone.

Tony hastily scrawled what he knew, but ventured to ask a question over the phone. “Who is this?”

He put the pen down. The other mobsters leaned in, reading the information in a heartbeat.

_-PETER SAID LITTLE  
-CHAOS_

“Hello?” Tony called out.

_“Hello.”_

Tony frowned. “Who is this?”

Rhodey thumped the pen against the notepad again. Tony swatted him away, taking the pen and making an update.

_-NEW VOICE_

_“You know, I’ve been meaning to call you,”_ the man on the other side of the line said. His voice was low, his words measured. _“Your kid's a slippery one, Stark. Managed to get all the way from one side of my house to the other and call you for me. Couldn’t have been too good for his knee, though.”_

Tony grit his teeth. “Who are you?”

 _“I’m sending a car for you tomorrow,”_ the man said. “ _You can bring your consigliere and physician. We have business to discuss.”_

The line cut off.

Tony couldn’t hold it in anymore. He stood up and slammed the phone down on the receiver, setting off the bell.

Rhodey put up a hand, moving in front of Tony. “Tones, you gotta calm down. Tell us what happened, and we can make a plan. What did the guy say?”

“They’re hurting him,” Tony said, on the edge of panic. “Oh god, they’re _hurting him-”_

“Who was it?” Barnes asked from the other side of the desk.

A spark caught fire in Tony’s heart, and he set his jaw. “A dead man.”

* * *

Stephen Strange was almost as much of a narcissistic asshole as Tony was - a quality that made Strange the only medical professional in the state that Tony trusted completely. He had been the one Tony called when Pepper and Happy were attacked, and he had saved their lives. Ever since, Tony kept Strange with a steady income on his payroll.

He was reliable. He was incredibly skilled. And he was punctual.

Being on the Stark payroll enabled Strange to be extremely picky with who he worked with, and as a result, Strange was often able to drop what he was doing and assist, should the need ever arise.

He showed up at Stark Manor around 11 AM. By then, Rogers and his team had cleared out of the house, on the move to take their places around the city. It had taken all night, but they set up eyes everywhere, ensuring that, wherever the mystery man’s car took Tony, Happy, and Strange, Rogers would know about it. They would tail the car, and as soon as they got to Peter, the tail would double back and inform Rhodey and the N.Y.P.D. (then wait a small distance from the house to pick the three of them up, avoiding the news crews and police themselves).

So, while Jarvis was busy prepping the house, Strange, Tony, and Happy stood on the front patio, filling the doctor in on what had happened and what the plan was. Strange had been critical but willing to go through with it, and that was enough for Tony.

Finally, a black car turned down onto Tony’s gravel driveway and slowed to a stop in front of them. All windows except for the ones accessible to the driver were blacked out, making it almost impossible to see out of the backseat. Nevertheless, it seemed the only occupant of the car was the driver - a muscular man with short black hair, bushy eyebrows, and a goatee. He didn’t seem like the valet type.

The driver exited the car and opened the back door. “Get in.”

Happy went in first, followed by Tony and Strange. The driver shut the door and locked it behind them.

Inside the car was as dark as Tony thought it would be. The darkened windows allowed very little light in, and a blacked out divider kept them from seeing the driver or trying to get information out of him.

Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and prayed Rogers wasn’t incompetent. If he somehow didn’t alert the N.Y.P.D. in time, or he lost track of them…

Traveling in a moving vehicle without being able to see where he was going was...odd, to say the least. Every turn, no matter how gentle, was sharp and unexpected. Perhaps that was the point - to raise Tony’s nerves before he was taken to wherever they had Peter.

Strange sat quietly, for once, which Tony appreciated. He liked being able to banter with Strange, but at the moment, his stomach was twisted up in so many knots that he simply was not physically capable of making a joke.

They continued to drive.

“We’re going in circles,” Happy said quietly.

Tony nodded, but said nothing.

An hour must have passed before they finally heard the sounds of the city die away. Then, it wasn’t long until the car began to slow down.

The car stopped.

Tony’s heart rate doubled.

“Remember,” Happy whispered, “we just gotta get Peter out. Then he’ll be fine.”

Tony shot a glare at his consigliere. “I know.”

The door opened before they were forced to continue the conversation, and they filed out.

Before them, a grand staircase flanked by two lion statues led up to a grandiose, two-story mansion of stone. Detailing was etched into the stone itself, and the style of the building bore a suspicious resemblance to some sort of European palace.

Tony caught sight of a number of hired guns, some standing out in plain view, some in the windows of the house… He was certain that there were others, possibly dozens of guards that he couldn’t see without exposing the fact that he knew they were there.

A man with carefully gelled hair exited the house and stood at the top of the stairs. His beard was neatly maintained and short, and the suit he wore was just as immaculate. “Stark! Good to see you, man. How’ve you been?”

“That him?” Happy whispered.

Tony shook his head. “No.”

The man at the top of the stairs grinned. “Don’t tell me you don’t _recognize_ me…”

Strange and Happy looked at Tony, but he was drawing a blank. Despite all of the man’s obvious attempts to look important (overcompensating for something, perhaps?), he simply did not stand out in Tony’s memory.

“No matter, introductions are always fun,” the man said. “Come on in. Boss is waiting.”

Tony didn’t need any further invitation. Peter was in there somewhere. If he had to make a deal with the Devil himself in order to get to his son, he would do it. He started up the stairs, dimly aware of Happy, Strange, and the dark-haired driver following along behind him.

The man waited for them to get closer, but started leading them forward once they were almost close enough for Tony to reach out and grab him. He led them into the foyer, which was just as elegant and massive as the rest of the house.

Tony ignored the details. Instead, he kept his attention solely on the man leading them, who glanced over his shoulder as he walked, keeping an eye on Tony.

“You really don’t remember me?” he asked.

Tony shook his head. “Nope.”

To Tony’s surprise, the man shrugged. “Well, I guess I just didn’t make that strong of an impression. I bet you’ll remember me now - considering it was my idea to kill that woman and kidnap the boy.”

Tony’s heart stopped, so many emotions rocketing through him in an instant, too fast to fully register.

The man sent him a shark-like grin. “Quentin Beck. Nice to meet you. Again. Oh, and did you like the little trick with the fake Ronin? Thought it would throw you off just long enough for us to cover our tracks. Didn’t expect you to go and actually _work_ with Rogers, though. That was fun.”

“It was your idea?” Tony asked in a low voice, just waiting for Beck to say “yes”, just waiting for him to give permission to snap his neck-

“Can’t take all the credit,” Beck said, wisely staying out of reach. He took a left at the top of the stairs, turning to a long hallway with a lone door at the end. “Kraven’s the one that actually dressed as Ronin for us. No one else wanted to risk setting off the real deal, but he did it once and nothing happened, so I said, ‘if it ain’t broke!’” Beck cackled, clearly delighted in himself.

Tony swallowed a growl. He just had to play along until he found Peter.

He could do it for Peter.

They reached the end of the hallway. Beck knocked twice on the oak wood door.

“Come in.”

Shooting one last taunting smile at Tony, Beck opened the door and went in. “Got ‘em, Boss.”

Tony followed Beck into what was obviously a study. The walls to his left and right were lined with bookshelves, every single book covered with red. The wall at the end of the room was taken entirely by a large window that overlooked a manicured courtyard, complete with fountains, pristine pathways, and trimmed bushes.

Just before the window stood a heavy, mahogany desk, mostly bare save for a picture frame and a lamp above it. A bulky man sat at the desk, his frame almost bigger than the massive chair he sat in. He was bald, and his beady eyes watched Tony carefully.

“Hello, Stark,” he said. Tony instantly recognized his voice - this was the mystery man from the telephone call. “Welcome to my home. Please, have a seat.”

Tony opened his mouth to object, but the man raised a hand to cut him off. “You will be able to see the boy, but we have some business to talk over first. Sit down.”

It was not a request. As much as Tony wanted to march straight up to the man’s desk and demand that he release his son _immediately,_ he took note of the other men standing guard in the room. He knew when he was outnumbered.

Tony sat in one of the low-backed chairs in front of the desk. Happy moved to stand behind Tony, and Strange took the other seat, crossing his legs.

The man focused on Strange, first. “I apologize, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Dr. Stephen Strange,” Strange said. “I run a private practice in the Upper West side.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of you. You work for _him_?” the man asked, pointing to Stark. “How much does he pay you? Whatever it is, I can double it.” The man smiled, but Strange remained unimpressed.

“What’s your name?” Tony demanded. “You know ours. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?”

The man watched him for a moment, cold and calculating. Finally, he answered, “Wilson Fisk." Tony tried to remember if he had ever met a “Fisk” before, but he came up empty. Fisk went on. “Now, let’s hurry up and get this deal all signed and official, shall we? I know you want to see your charity project, and I’m ready to get him out of here. He’s costing me a fortune - had to cut some corners, couldn’t exactly give the enemy five star treatment. You understand.”

Tony’s blood ran cold.

Fisk sat back in his chair, fingers interlaced and resting over his stomach. “Really, Stark, the long and short of it is that I can’t stand you. You infect almost every borough of New York - except for Brooklyn, of course, but I’ve heard rumors of a partnership there. I want you _out._ "

Tony clenched his fists. “That’s it? You shot my son and kidnapped him to use him as a _bargaining chip?”_ he roared, standing out of his seat.

In an instant, every gun in the place was drawn and pointed at him.

Fisk lifted a lazy hand. The guns went away, tucked back into waistbands or holsters.

“I want your speakeasies,” Fisk said. “Every one of them. You have three, total - _The Tiger Lily, The Tulip Bud,_ and _The Magnolia_. Sign over ownership of your _...shadier_ assets, and I'll let you go.”

“And Peter,” Tony said.

“For him, you’ll have to throw in _The Jeweled Rose,_ too,” Fisk said, a sly grin on his face. "Don't worry, you can keep your restaurants. I'm not going to leave you with nothing."

“Fine,” Tony said, growing impatient. “I sign and you let him go.”

“As soon as you sign, I’ll have Beck personally escort you,” Fisk agreed. He gestured to Beck, who brought a folder around the table and handed it to Tony with a pen.

“Four documents,” Beck said. “Sign all four where indicated.”

Tony opened the folder and signed the documents without even a second’s hesitation. It barely took him a minute, and as soon as he was done, he snapped it shut and threw it on Fisk’s desk. “There. All of my assets. Now where’s Peter?”

Fisk took the folder, a triumphant grin on his face. “Quentin, would you kindly show Mr. Stark to the guest room?”

“Yes, Boss.” Beck moved towards the door, and Tony instantly stood, hurrying to follow.

Just before he left the room, Fisk called out after him. “Pleasure doing business with you, Stark.”

Something in Tony soured as Beck led them down a different hallway, towards the opposite end of the manor. Peter was priceless to Tony, yet Fisk had forced him to purchase his freedom. He knew exactly how much each of his major assets were worth. By extension, he could now put a price on Peter’s _life,_ and he hated it.

Finally, they arrived at a door on the first floor, which Beck opened.

The room was unfinished, with hardwood floors but only partially-painted walls. The three floor-to-ceiling windows where left without window coverings, and there was no furniture in the room aside from a twin-sized bed and a table that stood next to it.

A man stood beside the table, but Tony ignored him, making a beeline to the bed, something in him easing and breaking at the same time.

Peter laid on the bed, his right arm bandaged to his chest. His left wrist was handcuffed to the headboard. Thick straps of leather fastened across his body from head to toe prevented him from sitting up, and Tony saw that they had tied his ankles to the footboard for good measure. He still wore the clothes he had worn to _The Tiger Lily_ when he was taken, though the blazer was gone and the clothes themselves were ripped and bloodied. At the moment, Peter’s eyes were closed, caught in restless sleep. His curls were plastered against his forehead with sweat, and when Tony put a hand to Peter’s flushed face, he found him _much_ too warm.

Strange appeared on the other side of the bed, unfastening his sleeves and rolling them up. “I assume you’ve been treating him?”

“Trying to,” the man beside the table said. “I don’t exactly have everything I need to treat him here. I’m Dr. Curt Connors, by the way.”

“Dr. Strange,” Strange replied. The two of them began discussing the treatment Peter had been receiving over the past few days, but Tony found himself unable to pay attention.

“Tony?” Peter croaked.

Tony looked back down at Peter to find his eyes open, gaze somewhat hazy. He brushed the boy’s curls back, lifting them from his sweaty skin. “Hey kiddo," he whispered.

Peter’s eyes watered. “Tony, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” He hiccuped a sob.

Tony shushed him gently, grabbing Peter’s uninjured hand with one of his own while his other hand continued to run through Peter’s hair. “Nope, none of that. We're gonna get you home, okay? Jarvis is there right now, making sure everything’s ready.”

“He’s okay?” Peter asked, voice still shaky.

“Yep,” Tony said. “Had a bit of a headache for a few days, but he’s doing fine.”

“-about these leather straps?” Strange was saying, coming back over to Peter’s side. He noticed that the kid was awake and stopped. “One moment, Dr. Connors. Hello, Peter. My name is Dr. Strange. Can you tell me how much pain you are feeling? Scale of one to ten.”

“A lot,” Peter said, tears still flowing freely down his cheeks. Tony wiped them away with a thumb every so often, cringing at how warm he was.

“We’ll need to up his pain medication,” Strange said, turning to Connors.

“There is none,” Connors said. “Fisk never got any to me.”

Strange blinked, taken aback. “The hell- Do you mean to tell me he’s on _no_ medication? No pain relief whatsoever?”

“Tony,” Peter whispered.

Tony looked back to the kid, letting the sound of Strange and Connors arguing turn into background noise. “Yeah, Pete?”

“Can we go home?” he asked. “Please?”

Wiping more tears from Peter's cheeks, Tony tried to smile. He had a feeling it fell flat. “Of course, kiddo. As soon as Strange says you’re ready to move, we’re going, okay? I promise.”

“Okay,” Peter said. He sniffled.

Tony looked over at the doctors, still in conversation. “Strange, can we at least untie him from the bed?”

Strange looked to Connors, who nodded. “He escaped yesterday and made it to Fisk’s office. Tore open his injuries again. I wanted just one or two to keep him from hurting himself more, but Fisk demanded we go a little overboard.”

“No shit,” Tony growled. “Get them off. Right now.”

Connors nodded, then set about the bed, releasing the leather straps, untying the ropes around Peter’s ankles, and unlocking the handcuff that kept Peter’s uninjured arm pinned above his head. Tony tried not to focus on the rope burns on Peter’s ankles, the harsh red marks from the metal restraints, or the way that Peter took a deep breath once the strap across his chest was released, as if he hadn't been able to breathe properly with it in place-

The instant Peter was free, the teenager pushed himself off the bed and wrapped his uninjured arm around Tony’s shoulders, tucking his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. Guided by muscle memory, Tony returned the embrace, cradling him close with one arm around Peter’s middle, and the other hand supporting his head.

Tony could feel the tremors wracking Peter’s frame as he cried into his shoulder. He didn’t know how much of Peter’s emotions stemmed from the pain from the injuries, or whether it was a side effect of the fever, or something else - perhaps it was from everything.

Tony pressed a kiss onto Peter’s hair. “It’s alright, kiddo. I've got you.”

Happy appeared on the other side of the bed and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Tony, we’ve gotta get moving.”

“Got it,” Tony said. He moved to pull away from Peter, but the boy whimpered and held on tighter. Tony sat back down, rubbing Peter's back to try and calm him down. “It's okay, Pete. I'm not going anywhere.”

Happy looked over at Strange. “Can you do anything for him?”

Strange grimaced. “Not here. As soon as we get back to Stark Manor, I’ll be able to properly care for the injuries. My assistant is the best anesthesiologist in Manhattan; he won’t feel a thing. But for now, we’re just going to have to move him.”

Tony shifted his grip on his kid. “Pete, I’m going to have to pick you up, okay? You just hold onto me.”

Peter nodded against Tony’s collar, then readjusted so that Tony would have an easier time picking him up.

Tony slid an arm underneath Peter’s knees, jostling the knee injury. Peter hissed in pain.

“I know, bud,” Tony said, placing another light kiss on Peter’s hairline. “I know, but we've gotta get you out of here. I’m going to lift on three, ready? One, two-” Tony stood, lifting Peter off of the bed. Peter cried out, twisting the fabric of Tony’s blazer.

Tony grit his teeth, hating how he was the one causing his kid pain, but he pushed past it. “Lead the way, Hap.”

Happy nodded, moving back towards the door. Tony followed suit, holding Peter close. There was something reassuring about having his kid in his arms (even though he was lighter than he should have been). The empty feeling that had followed him ever since Peter had been kidnapped was filling, growing more and more solid with each step that he took towards the exit of Fisk’s mansion.

In front of him, Happy opened the door and left the room. Beck stood just outside. His eyes fell on Peter and he smiled. “Bye Peter,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

That rage that had been thrumming through Tony’s veins before returned, bubbling under his skin, but Happy beat him to the punch.

Literally.

Happy socked Beck in the jaw, striking a nerve and knocking him out cold. Shaking out his hand, Happy pointed to the left. “Spotted a back entrance this way.”

Tony nodded. In his arms, Peter briefly turned to look down at the crumpled form of Quentin Beck, but hurriedly twisted back and hid his face in Tony's shoulder.

Happy grabbed the revolver that Beck had tucked into a holster and began to move again, keeping the weapon at the ready. Following suit, Tony stayed close to Happy. When they passed Beck, Tony kicked him in the ribs for good measure.

“Just hold onto me, kiddo,” Tony said in a low voice. “I gotcha.”

From there, the journey was a blur. Tony focused on holding Peter, trying not to jostle him if he could help it. They only encountered two hired hands, both of whom Happy quickly took down.

Finally, they reached the back door, quickly disappearing into the gardens and heading towards the road, where Barnes was waiting with a car at the ready.

* * *

Strange was the first one in the door at the Stark Manor, with Tony following quickly behind. “Mr. Jarvis, I assume everything I asked for is prepared?"

“Laid out and waiting in the young sir’s quarters, as requested,” Jarvis answered, falling in step with the swiftly moving group. Rogers’s gang watched from the foyer as they made their way up the stairs. Never the best with being the center of attention, Peter tensed and kept his face hidden in Tony’s collar.

“We need to draw an ice bath immediately,” Strange said. “He’s developed a high fever. I don’t know for how long, but it’s too high. We need to bring his body temperature down _now_.”

“Yes sir," Jarvis said. He ran ahead and disappeared into Peter’s room.

Strange stopped at the threshold and turned around, arms out. “Give him to me.”

Tony took a half-step back. He could feel Peter tighten his grip, determined not to be separated from his adoptive father. The feeling was mutual. “What? No, I can-”

“You’ll be in the way. Now, let me do my job,” Strange interrupted with a raised eyebrow. “If you really don’t trust me with him, why did you call me in the first place?”

There were multiple people staring at him - Tony could feel their eyes on his back. But he just… He _just_ got Peter back. He couldn’t just let him go… He _couldn’t…_

A hand on Tony’s arm pulled him from his inner dilemma. "Let him go, Tony,” Rogers said, eyes full of compassion. “You’ll be right outside if anything happens. And Jarvis will come get you if the slightest thing changes.”

“But-”

“Running out of time, Stark," Strange droned.

Gently, Rogers pried Peter out of Tony’s arms. Peter struggled, trying to hold onto Tony with the desperation of a man dangling from a cliff, trying not to fall to his death. “No- No! Tony please-”

Tony let Peter go and handed him off to Strange, feeling as if a piece of his soul had been carved out.

Strange hurriedly disappeared into the room, but Peter continued to struggle. “No! No, put me down! _Dad-!”_

Happy shut the door, severing Tony’s connection with Peter and leaving an aching hollowness in his place.

Tony’s knees buckled, but Rogers grabbed his arm, steadying him. “Whoa, okay. Hogan? Could you grab a chair?” Hesitating, Happy looked between the two mafia dons, then nodded and went off to find a seat for his own boss.

Tony only dimly registered Happy’s departure, his gaze locked onto Peter’s shut door. If he concentrated, he could still hear Peter yelling-

“He called me ‘Dad’,” Tony said quietly.

Rogers frowned. “Doesn't he usually?”

“No,” Tony said.

No, he’d never been called “Dad” before. He had thought about the possibility, back when he was first drawing up the adoption papers. Back then, he had imagined Peter maybe accidentally calling him “Dad”, or asking if he could use “Dad” instead of “Tony”, because he was always polite like that… He had thought the new moniker would bring a wave of affection with it, the feeling of warmth and absolute adoration for his kid...

It had never even crossed his mind that Peter would first use it when his voice was hoarse from screaming. Instead of that warmth that he had imagined, it felt like his ribs had been cracked, broken teeth shifting together as he tried to force himself to _breathe-_

Happy put a chair down and Tony gratefully sank into it.

All they could do was wait.

  
  


Natasha eventually joined them outside Peter’s door. “Rhodes called. They’ve got Fisk and Beck in custody.”

Tony nodded, but didn’t speak.

Peter’s room had been quiet for a while now. The medicine must have started to kick in.

Rogers returned, a glass of water in his hand. He offered it to Tony.

“Thanks, Rogers,” Tony said, taking it in his hands but not actually drinking it.

“You can call me ‘Steve’,” Rogers said. “I think we’ve known each other long enough for first-name basis, Tony.”

“Nice try, Rogers,” Tony said. “I will not have a ‘Steve’ and a ‘Stephen’ in this house at the same time.”

  
  


The sun set.

Tony stared off into space, Natasha sitting next to him in a chair she had found from...somewhere. Happy stood nearby, leaning against the wall. On the floor, Steve sat across from Tony.

Nobody had said anything for awhile. Most of Rogers’s crew had gone home - though, he was pretty sure Barton, Barnes, Wilson, and Maximoff were in the kitchen, putting something together for everyone. It was a nice gesture, but the churning nerves in his stomach told him he wouldn’t be able to keep anything down.

Finally, the door clicked open.

Tony was out of his seat in an instant, taking a step forward toward Jarvis, who stood in the doorway, his blazer gone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “How is he?”

“Doing quite well, sir,” Jarvis answered, an easy smile on his face. “Dr. Strange has dressed his injuries, and we were able to bring his temperature down to a manageable level. He is packing away his instruments at the moment, but he wanted to see you to deliver the instructions for the young sir’s care.”

That was all the permission he needed. Tony pushed past Jarvis in a hurry, going into Peter’s room without hesitation.

Peter’s room was large, just like every other room in Tony’s house. At first, Peter had seen the shelves of books, the large bed, the Persian rugs, and the ensuite bathroom and had vehemently protested against being freely given a room “as big as his whole house”, but when Tony pointed out how his smallest bedroom was far from Tony’s own bedroom and the study, Peter decided to take the bigger room.

At the moment, Peter laid on the bed, on top of the covers. His injured knee was propped up with a pillow, rewrapped snuggly with white bandages. He still wore his ruined pants, but someone had cut one pant leg above the injured knee. His shirt was gone, but his chest and shoulders were still covered, wrapped with wide bandages. As Tony drew closer, he noticed bandages on Peter’s wrist and ankles, as well. At the moment, the boy's eyes were closed, facial features peaceful and relaxed.

Strange stood next to Peter’s bed, packing his tools away. He glanced up at Tony, then returned to what he was doing. “He’s sedated, at the moment. Should come out of it soon.”

“He’s going to be okay, though,” Tony checked.

Strange nodded. “He should be. You’ll need to keep up with his recovery, but if you do as I tell you, he’ll have an easy time of it.”

“Alright, lay it on me,” Tony said, mentally preparing himself to memorize everything Strange was about to tell him.

“Well, we’ll start with the fever,” Strange said. A woman ducked into the room and took Strange’s toolkit, then ducked out - the anesthesiologist, presumably. Strange continued, “Keep him hydrated, keep him resting. He’ll probably need more frequent baths as well, because of the fever. Be sure to remove the bandages and retie them once he is dried off. I showed Jarvis how to do it properly - if you have questions, ask him.

“Change the bandages every twenty-four hours. Sooner, if they get wet or dirty. I’ve prescribed painkillers for him, as well - morphine. It’s fairly standard. Do not overdo it, or there will be drastic side effects. If he can deal without it, then don’t give it to him. If he is still in pain, don’t give him any more than I’ve prescribed, I’ll figure something else out. I’ve also prescribed antibacterials that Jarvis will administer. That's it, really: change his bandages, keep the fever down, and don’t overdo it on the painkillers.”

Tony nodded. “Got it. I’m guessing you told Jarvis this, too?”

“Yes,” Strange conceded, “but I figured you would be the one more likely to mother hen.”

Tony sent a halfhearted glare at Strange and opened his mouth to shoot back a haughty reply, but the words he was going to say vanished as soon as he heard a frail groan from the bed.

“Peter?” Tony called softly, moving to sit on the bed by Peter's hip. He vaguely registered Strange take the last of his tools and duck out of the room, but his attention was mainly on Peter as he slowly blinked open his eyes and looked around the room. When his gaze settled on Tony, he smiled. “Hey, kiddo. Sleep well?”

Peter blinked sluggishly at Tony. “I’m tired,” he slurred.

“You don’t feel too hot or anything?" Tony asked. “Not thirsty? Do you need anything?”

"May I have some water?"

Tony nodded. “Yeah, of course. Jarvis?” Tony looked back to the door and found a crowd of people standing in the doorway.

Jarvis pushed through the crowd. “Yes, sir?”

“...Could you get a glass of water?” Tony asked, unnerved by the number of people watching him. From the way Peter reached out and grabbed Tony’s sleeve, he’d guess Peter felt the same way.

Jarvis left the room with a “Right away, sir.”

“Dad?” Peter whispered.

And there it was. That warmth and affection rush that he had been expecting surged with new life in Tony’s chest. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“Who are they?” Peter asked, eyes on the people in the doorway.

“Uh…” For a moment, Tony found himself at a loss. Rogers and his crew wanted to meet Peter - understandable, considering the fact that he hadn’t stopped talking about how wonderful his kid was ever since Rogers offered to help - and the sooner they were introduced, the sooner they would leave and allow Peter to get some sleep.

“If you’re not too tired, I’ll introduce you,” Tony offered.

Peter nodded, and Tony gestured for the people in the doorway to enter. Rogers entered first, followed by...well, everyone. Barnes, Natasha, Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff followed his lead, with Happy standing back near the door, ever the vigilant watchman.

Tony stood and moved back to allow the newcomers to greet Peter, but he stopped when Peter’s eyes locked onto him, confused and anxious. “Don’t worry, bud, I’m just going around,” Tony said, moving faster to the other side of the bed, as promised. He sat on top of the covers, one leg out and one crossed, and he brushed Peter’s damp curls back off of his forehead. Peter relaxed back into the pillows, at ease.

Rogers moved to where Tony had been standing a few seconds prior. “Hello, Peter. Steve Rogers. Tony has said a lot about you.”

Peter glanced at Tony, surprised.

“Yeah, we’re friends now,” Tony said simply.

“Oh. H-hello, Mr. Rogers,” Peter said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And that's Barnes, Barton, Wilson, Nat, and Maximoff,” Tony said, pointing at each member as he named them.

Maximoff offered a kind smile. “Just ‘Wanda’ is fine.”

“I’m, uh... I'm not the best with names,” Peter said apologetically.

“That’s alright, Pete,” Tony said, gently sliding an arm around his kid’s shoulders. Peter leaned into his side with a content sigh, and the knot in Tony’s chest finally released. Tony looked around at those in the room - the people that had helped him keep his family together, who had been there for him in the past week physically and emotionally - and couldn't hide a grateful smile, which they returned. “I’m sure you’ll get to know them. They're going to be around for awhile.”

**Author's Note:**

> *smacks you in the face with a baking sheet* fLUFF
> 
> And they all go on to collectively raise Peter and try to keep him out of trouble <3
> 
> Fun bit of world trivia: Osborn is the mayor that just was elected and is ending the Prohibition. Just thought I'd throw that in there.
> 
> I hope you guys liked this! I don't have any other ideas for this AU at the moment, but I might in the future. Feel free to subscribe to the series, "Mafia AU". Anything that I will post will be posted there.
> 
> But that's it for now! Let me know if you guys like how this went! I'm eager to hear your thoughts <3


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